A Devil in the Details jjd-1

by K. A. Stewart

  The new plated leg guards I eyed skeptically. Marty had cut the thin steel plates down to narrow strips, barely three inches wide, and attached them so they’d fall two on the outer calf, two on the inner. That left a lot of gap, covered only by chain. I wasn’t sure how well they’d work, in practice. At the very least, I could run through some katas and see what they did for my range of motion. But that would be later-much later. I crammed them into the bottom of the duffel bag, and piled the usable armor in on top of them.

  My sword got some attention next. I drew it and examined the edge closely. I’d never do that in front of Marty; I’m sure he’d take it as my questioning his work. It was wicked sharp, and the blade was as straight and true as the day it was crafted. Marty had rewrapped the hilt, using the dark blue cord I preferred. It made me sad to think of putting this one aside for a new one, no matter what piece of genius Marty might construct for me. This sword had been with me since the beginning.

  To most, it might appear ordinary, even plain. The guard was an octagonal piece of bronze, and the pommel was a simple round knob. The blade was unadorned. Even the scabbard was merely functional as opposed to decorative. But I found beauty in simplicity, and she’d always been true to me.

  I practiced drawing and sheathing it a few times, finding my center, and focusing on just what I was doing at that moment. I felt better with it in my hand. Sure, I could use other weapons, but I was most comfortable with the katana. It made me feel more balanced. I laid it again in the front seat of my truck, then went to attend to some of the more mundane aspects of my life.

  Technically, I had another hour before Kidd’s reflection period was up. He could wait while I threw some laundry in.

  That’s right, ladies. I do laundry. I figure it’s a fair trade, since Mira actually works full-time and looks after Annabelle. I’d offer to cook, too, but face it: Mira runs circles around me there. If it were left to me, we’d have pizza rolls for every meal. I’d be okay with that, actually. She would not.

  By the time I got the laundry sorted and a load thrown in the washer (how in the world does one five-year-old child go through that many socks?), I had three hours to myself before Mira and Annabelle came home. If I was going to call Kidd, I needed to do it now.

  9

  The phone rang so many times, I started to believe Kidd had packed up and left town. His agent had been most determined, after all. When someone finally answered, there was a jarring clatter as the receiver was dropped and possibly kicked across the floor in someone’s haste.

  “Wait, wait, don’t hang up! I’m here!” The voice was distant, tinny, but the receiver was rescued, and I could hear Kidd’s heavy breathing as he tried to calm himself. “I’m here.”

  “Run for the phone?” I received an affirmative grunt in reply. “Your time is up, Mr. Kidd. Have you reached a decision?”

  He was quiet for a few moments. Maybe he was giving himself one last chance to butch up and take his punishment like a man. In the end, he sighed. “I cannot continue this way, Mr. Dawson. Please help me.”

  It was what I expected. “All right, here is the plan. Tonight, after dark, I am going to pick you up, and we’re going to drive out into the middle of nowhere. Then, you’re going to call your little friend’s name, and he’s going to come pay us a visit. At that point, we’ll negotiate the terms of the challenge. The challenge itself won’t happen tonight, but we’ll lay the groundwork.”

  There was a long hesitation on his end. “How long should it take?”

  “You have a date, Mr. Kidd?”

  “No, I… My team is flying in tonight. We’re playing a series here this week, and I’ll need to report back to the hotel. They keep the players on curfew.”

  That might make things a bit tricky. Things would take as long as they took, and not a moment less. It wasn’t something I was willing to rush. “I’ll try to have you home before you turn into a pumpkin, all right?”

  “Is there… anything I need to do? Or bring?” He got a few points for at least being willing to help.

  “Just show up, and when I tell you to, speak the name.”

  “You want me to call it? Can’t you-?”

  “No.” I cut him off right there. No way would a demon’s name ever pass my lips. I didn’t need that kind of attention. It was bad enough I had about a dozen of the vile monikers swimming around in my mind. Nobody should have to have that filth in his head. “I suggest you get some rest today, Mr. Kidd. We could have a long night ahead of us.” I hung up without waiting for a response. Old habits are hard to break.

  There was no telling how long the negotiations would actually take. The lesser demons, the Scuttles and Snots, weren’t real picky about terms. The Snots rarely got past saying, “Rawr, me smash!” They just wanted a chance to fight, to work themselves up their brutal hierarchy, so they’d agree to something fast and dirty. It was the Shirts and Skins, the powerful ones, who could give lawyers a run for their money. They’d want every single detail nailed down, preferably to their advantage.

  I’d have no way of knowing which I faced, until Kidd said the magic word and the demon made its grand entrance. I hate surprises.

  And speaking of surprises, my doorbell rang. I answered it to find our across-the-street neighbor standing on my front step. I smiled. “Hey, Dixie.”

  Dixie is that neighbor who knows the neighborhood’s story of the last fifty years and more. She can tell you the names of the original builders of most of the houses, she knows what happened to the grand-children of a man who hasn’t lived here in thirty years, and she can probably tell you what everyone on the block was having for dinner that night. Every neighborhood has a Dixie.

  Widowed, her children grown and gone, she’d adopted Mira and me, and she doted on Annabelle worse than my own parents.

  The white-haired woman smiled back, tucking a pair of muddy gardening gloves into her belt so she could shake my hand. “Hello there, Jesse. I was wondering if I could ask you a favor.”

  “Sure, anything.”

  “Jack’s not going to be able to come by to mow the lawn until next week, and it’s looking positively shaggy. Do you think you could… ?”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, sure. Just lemme change clothes.” I was Jesse Dawson, champion of lost souls and amateur groundskeeper.

  Appropriate lawn-mowing clothes donned and sunblock applied (the last thing I needed was to try and wear mail over a sunburn), I headed across the street to mow Dixie’s lawn. It wouldn’t take long; she had a nice riding mower and a yard the size of a postage stamp. The only problem was skirting the artful but inconveniently placed flower beds. There were four.

  As I motored carefully around the yard, I became aware of eyes on me. Glancing around, I saw only Dixie’s enormous tabby tomcat perched atop the birdbath. Garfield was an aloof creature, merely tolerating my presence on a good day, but today he watched me with uncanny alertness. Seeing that he had my attention, the large cat flicked his tail once, and the eyes glowed red for a heartbeat.

  “Oh no no… Axel…” Dammit. “Come on, the lady’s cat?”

  He gave a feline leap as I neared and settled his large bulk quite comfortably in my lap. My skin crawled, and it took everything in me not to chuck the creature under the mower deck. “You said no more local wildlife,” he said, in my voice. “This is not wildlife. This is possibly the most disgustingly domesticated creature I’ve ever seen, besides you.” It wasn’t fair that he didn’t even have to raise his voice to be heard over the mower.

  The last thing I needed was for the neighbors to see me talking to myself. I muttered under my breath. “Yeah, but she’s gonna be heartbroken when the cat keels over dead.”

  “I can leave it alive, if you want, when I vacate.”

  I looked down at the cat in my lap. “You can?” He nodded. It was an odd gesture, coming from a cat. “Then quit killing my squirrels, too!” I maneuvered around a large oblong flower bed in the middle of the yard.

  “What’
s it worth to you?” My contempt must have shown on my face, because he chuckled. “You have no sense of humor, you know that?”

  “I’ve been told. What do you want? You’re not normally this clingy.”

  “Just keeping an eye on my favorite demon slayer.” He actually began washing his ears in true catlike fashion, then blinked at his own paw. “Eugh, why do they do this?”

  “You know, you can keep an eye on me quite well from the birdbath. Or from the house. Or from another state. Anywhere but from my lap.” It was like Marty or Will crawling into my lap. Ew. Guys just don’t do that.

  “But I’d miss our little talks.” I swear the cat pouted.

  “Don’t you love me anymore?” I know I gave him a scathing look then, and he actually purred. “You’re a collector’s item, you know. A dying breed. Fewer and fewer of you all the time. It’ll be a pity to see you all go the way of the dodo.”

  “Well, I don’t plan on keeling over any time soon, so you can stop fretting your pretty little head.” I wheeled around the heart-shaped flower bed, making a mental note to get the Weed Eater and finish trimming around it later.

  “I’ll bet your friend Miguel said that same thing to his wife, that last day.”

  I slammed the mower into park, torturing the motor and engulfing us in a cloud of acrid exhaust. I turned it off, eyeing the orange tabby suspiciously. “What do you know, Axel?”

  “Nothing I’m willing to share for free.” His fluffy tail swayed in a lazy rhythm, eyes half lidded in amusement.

  “This isn’t the time to start playing the ‘I’ll swallow your soul’ game, Axel.”

  “Who says I’m playing? This is what I do, Jesse; I bargain.” His purr went up about three notches, rumbling against my legs. “Just because you’re a friend doesn’t mean you get a discount.”

  I snatched the fat tabby up by the scruff of his neck, dangling him at eye level. “So help me, Axel, if you know where he is, or what happened…”

  “Careful, Jesse. You don’t want that sweet little old lady to come out here and see you abusing her precious puddy tat, do you?” The golden eyes gleamed red again. “I give nothing for free. You want to know what I know, let’s talk deal.”

  “Tell me, and I won’t snap your furry neck.” I shook him once, and he answered with a low feline growl. Who knew Garfield had it in him?

  “You can’t hurt me in this body. You know that. What’s it worth to you, Jesse, to avoid dear brave Miguel’s fate?” The cat sneered at me, fangs bared.

  “I’ll dunk your furry ass in holy water-how about that for a deal?”

  “I don’t think I want to play with you anymore. You’re not nice.” He took a swipe at my face with a loud hiss. Startled, I dropped him before I remembered Garfield didn’t have claws.

  The chubby cat retreated to the shadow under the birdbath, tail lashing furiously. “Your arrogance will get you killed. When your soul is being tortured Down Below, remember I offered to help.”

  “Get back here, you conniving little-!” I lunged off the lawn mower in his direction.

  Garfield the cat regained control of his massive body as Axel escaped, and he let out a caterwaul to end all caterwauls. Puffing up to twice his previously huge size, he streaked for the nearest tree. I didn’t even know the lazy thing could move that fast. The cat huddled in the branches, visibly shaking.

  Cussing under my breath, I put the lawn mower away and fetched Dixie’s ladder to retrieve poor abused Garfield. I placed my feet carefully on the metal rungs, keeping an eye on the terrified feline, but my mind was on Axel.

  The demon bantered, he taunted, but he’d never been nasty to me before. He’s a demon, you dipshit! I cussed myself, too, while I was in a cussing mood. I was a million times an idiot for even half trusting him. I killed his kind on a regular basis, so what was I thinking?

  The better question would be what was he thinking? Did he know something about Miguel, or was he just trying to trap me in my own curiosity?

  No deals, no deals, no deals. I chanted it to myself like a mantra. Even minor bargains with demons could snowball. One tiny deal, one seemingly harmless trade only opened the door. Best not to start. But dammit, I wanted to know what he knew. That is, if he actually knew it. The conundrum was enough to scramble my brain.

  A horn honked as I clambered down from the tree with a rather disgruntled Garfield wrapped tightly in my T-shirt. I waved as best I could to Mira and Annabelle. Anna was babbling a mile a minute as they got out of the Explorer, and she bounced her way across the street, clinging tightly to her mother’s hand.

  “Daddy! Is that Garfield? Can I pet him? Why’s he in your shirt? Is Dixie home? Can I get a cookie?” It is possible that the cat was more afraid of my daughter than he had been of the possessing demon. With strength born of sheer terror, he struggled free and zipped inside the door as Dixie came out to greet us.

  “Goodness, what’s got into him?” She eyed her cat for a moment, and I wanted to tell her she really didn’t want to know. Muttering about “that crazy cat,” Dixie wandered over with a plate of fresh snickerdoodles. “I thought I heard my favorite cookie monster out here!”

  “Can I have a cookie, Dixie?”

  “Anna,” her mother said, with that warning mother tone.

  Annabelle immediately corrected herself. “Please?”

  “Of course, sweetie. You can have as many as you want.”

  Mira and I exchanged glances over the elderly woman’s head, and my wife managed to keep the cookie plunder to just one. When Dixie offered the plate to me, however, I couldn’t resist taking two, and Mira gave me the look of death.

  “Now, Mira, if those storm sirens go off, you get you and Anna over here to my house. We can settle in the basement and listen to the radio and such.” Dixie waggled her finger at my wife.

  Mira smiled. “I think we can probably do that. They’re saying it’s supposed to move through fast, not more than a day or so.”

  That was more than I’d heard. “It’s gonna rain on Mom’s party.”

  “It will be fine. We’ll adapt somehow.”

  We gathered up the cookie monster and returned home for dinner. About the time Mira put Annabelle to bed, I’d have to head out again to get Kidd, but until then I could claim some quality time with my family.

  Quality time included dinner, one round of horsey through the house (the hardwood was killing my knees by the end), and a rather boisterous bath, where the floor got cleaner than the child.

  I lingered long enough to tuck Annabelle in, kneeling at the side of her bed to kiss her good night. Of course, that led to kissing the stuffed wolf good night, too, then the stuffed dragon, then the rabbit, then… She had a lot of animals wanting kisses.

  “Will you be here when I wake up, Daddy?”

  The question caught me off guard. “Of course I will, button. Why would you ask that?”

  She gave me a sleepy grin and clutched her stuffed wolf to her chest. “Just checking.”

  10

  The sun was just beginning its descent as I arrived at the hotel, and Kidd’s watch-puppy was waiting in the hallway, still wearing a suit and tie (though it was blue this time). I had to wonder if the man even owned any casual clothes.

  “Mr. Verelli.”

  “My client has a curfew tonight, Mr. Dawson. I expect it to be observed.” He pushed off the wall to scurry after me, taking two steps for every one of my long strides.

  “Or what?” I was dying to know, really. He would have a threat prepared, if he was any kind of legal eagle.

  “Or I will call the police and report him abducted.”

  That brought me up short, and I burst out laughing. “Don’t you think that’s a bit much? Start small and work your way up, grasshopper. Don’t just jump straight to the big guns.”

  He frowned at me, a crease forming between his eyes, showing what kind of bitter old man he’d become one day. “You are mocking me.”

  “Every chance I get.” I turned t
o face him, blocking the hallway. “Look. I appreciate that you’re trying to protect your client, even if I think you’re more interested in your paycheck than his well-being. But this ‘Chihuahua yapping at my heels’ act is going to get old, real fast, so you may as well drop it now.”

  He sneered. It had been a while since I’d seen a good old-fashioned sneer. “Demon slaying, Mr. Dawson? You couldn’t find a more believable scam? Phony tree-removal maybe? Shoddy roofing jobs?”

  “The wooden nickel racket dried up.”

  “I deal with con men on a daily basis, Mr. Dawson. I can smell one a mile away, and you reek.”

  “Have you checked your cologne? That stuff can go bad, y’know.” I could keep this up all night.

  He nodded stiffly, straightening his tie. “Very well, as you like. Everyone has secrets, Mr. Dawson. It’s just a matter of locating yours. If you don’t want that to happen, you will walk away from Mr. Kidd.”

  I stepped closer and gave him my most evil smirk. I saw the moment he realized I had a good five inches on him. I may not be a bulky man, but I know very well how to use my height to my advantage. “Are you attempting to blackmail me, Mr. Verelli?”

  I had to give him credit. He stood his ground, though I could see the faint sheen of sweat break out on his forehead. I was willing to bet he’d never been in an actual fight in his life. “I am merely educating you as to the consequences of any dubious actions on your part.”

  “Man, you haven’t seen dubious yet.” I loomed just long enough to make him really nervous, then stepped back. “Get outta here, kid. Ya bother me. And learn to tie your shoes.”

  I left him standing in the hallway behind me, fuming. I was almost positive he couldn’t do anything to me. Almost positive. Seventy percent sure. Okay, I wasn’t sure at all, and it was starting to worry me.

  Sure, if I ran around telling the world I was a demon slayer, they’d lock me up and medicate me into vegetation. Hence, not doing that. I was okay with Junior’s not believing. But it was going to be a royal pain in the ass if he insisted on interfering. Seeing how easily he’d come up with information on my employment history, I had no doubt that he could dig up (or trump up) something to make my life more complicated. The question was how to get rid of him.